The Legend of Frogo, the furry-footed avenger
by Flopsie
Summary: Who is Frogo, and why did the Gods bestow such great power on one so incompetent?


SKYRIM: THE LEGEND OF FROGO THE FURRY-FOOTED AVENGER

It was a most vivid and memorable dream that the prisoner stirred from. In any other circumstances, he might have simply dismissed it, but since he lived in a fantasy world he knew it was probably prophetic, because vivid dreams always were. The men in robes and long beards said so. The dream involved dragons, countless dragons who laid waste to the land with their fiery breath, reducing entire cities to flaming ruins while burning farmland and forests to ash. Fairly standard dragon behaviour.

 _Phew_ , thought the prisoner. _I'm so glad that dragons don't exist in real life._

His thoughts turned to the waking world, and he was suddenly aware of how cold he was. The rumbling of cartwheels assailed his pointy ears, and he found himself sharing a horse-drawn cart with three men. A snow-dusted, sparsely-wooded landscape of gentle hills rolled by in the background. The cart followed a winding dirt track, flanked by the occasional outcrop of crumbling stone fencing. The prisoner was surprised to see they were just one in a long convoy of carts, each carrying a load of passengers. The convoy was guarded by an escort of heavily-armoured soldiers on horseback.

'Hey,' called the prisoner. 'Why are my hands bound? And why am I dressed in rags?'

'Because you're a prisoner of course,' said the man sitting opposite him. Dressed in mail beneath a dark blue cloak, he might have been a soldier, though like the prisoner his hands had been bound.

A handful of braids dangled from his long, blond hair.

'Don't you remember what happened?' asked the soldier.

'Um, no,' replied the prisoner.

'You walked into that Imperial ambush, just like the rest of us. Now we're all their captives, including that thief over there.'

'Damn you Stormcloaks to oblivion.' The speaker was a weasel-faced man with greasy black hair and dark-ringed eyes. 'The Empire was doing just fine before you showed up. Everything was nice and lazy. If I'd only managed to steal that horse, I could have been half way to Hammerfell by now.'

The fourth man in the cart glowered at the thief, a hulking giant of a man, dressed in armour like the soldier, though his was plate rather than mail. Coupled with the rich furs he wore, he looked like a man of some importance, though it would be impossible to ask him due to the gag that had been forced into his mouth.

'What's up with him?' asked the thief, fearlessly returning his glare.

'Mmm mmf, mmmr mm'f mmrr mmmf,' replied the gagged man irritably.

'Watch your tongue,' snarled the soldier. 'You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim.'

The prisoner froze, every ounce of bravado melting away in an instant.'

'Ulfric? The leader of the rebellion? But that means...gods! Where are they taking us?'

'I don't know where we're going,' said the soldier wistfully, 'but Sovngarde awaits.'

'Mmmr mmf. Mmmm mumrrf mmp rmmmfr.' said Ulfric Stormcloak in agreement.

'Oh gods,' said the thief. He turned white as snow.

'So what's your story? asked the soldier, turning back to the prisoner.

'Er, I don't know. I don't remember a thing before now.'

'Nothing at all? Not even your name?'

'Oh, I remember that? My name is Frogo.'

'Nice to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were better. I'm Ralof of Riverwood.

'Good to meet you Rolaf.'

'Ralof.'

'Oh, sorry.'

'So,' said Ralof. 'What race are you?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'What race are you?'

A look of utter indignation crossed Frogo's features. 'What sort of a question is that? What difference does it make what my ethnicity is?'

'Well, quite a lot, actually. For example, I'm a Nord, which means I'm a bit more resistant to frost magic than other races.'

'So just because you're a bit more resistant to having wizards throw ice-cubes at you, you think every single Nord on the planet is exactly the same?'

'Well...yes. I do.'

'Gods. Well, if you must know, I'm a hoppit.'

'Ah, said Ralof. 'That would explain why you're only three feet tall. Don't see many of your kind around here though.'

'That's because we're exceptionally rare. I haven't seen another of my kind since, well, I don't know. I've lost my memory, remember?'

'Do you at least know what your racial trait is?'

'Gods dammit, do you have to be so frickin' racist?'

'I'm not racist,' said Ralof. 'I'm just curious.'

'Urgh. I don't know. Well, as far as I know, we all have hairy toes. I mean really hairy.'

'I see,' said Ralof, with a look that yelled 'how unimpressive.' Ralof turned his attention back to the thief, who was frantically murmuring prayers to each of the eight divines like a madman.'

'Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?' he asked.

'Why do you you care?' said the thief.

'A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.'

'You really enjoy rubbing in the fact that we're all going to die, don't you Rilif?'

'Ralof. And no, I'm just trying to be realistic. No point dwelling on false hope.'

'Rorikstead,' said the thief. 'I'm from Rorikstead, Reloof.'

'What about you, hoppit? Where are you from?'

'Like I said, I don't remember anything.'

'Oh, yes, you did say that, didn't you.'

The convoy rolled on through the snows, until they came to a walled town at the top of a hill. Frogo spotted a number of Imperial soldiers manning the battlements, and as they rolled through the gates, they felt the gaze of several curious townsfolk who had come to witness the spectacle. Ralof smelled the hot, acrid tang of chimney smoke mingling with the harsh winter breeze and was seized by a bout of nostalgia.

'This is Helgen,' he said. 'I used to be sweet on a girl here. I wonder if she still makes that mead with juniper berries?'

'Mmmr mmrr mmmmffff,' said Ulfric. 'Urrfrrmm mmm'mmrrfff.'

Ralof laughed. 'Oh yeah, I remember that. Good times.'

They passed a group of soldiers on horseback. One stood out, a grey-haired main with leather-brown skin and intense eyes, dressed in bronze armour and draped in a scarlet cloak. He appeared to be conversing with a sour-face Altmer, dressed all in black.

'General Tullius,' said Ralof spitting the words out with disgust, ' and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.'

'Like you said, 'said Frogo, 'you're totally not racist.'

The carts slowed to a halt in the main square of town. The prisoners were ordered out the carts and made to stand in a line. A fierce-looking captain in polished steel armour stood before them, accompanied by a tall, glum-looking subordinate armed with a list. In the background, a masked man armed with an axe stood next to a headsman's block. He leered at the prisoners like a hungry wolf.

'Listen up, maggots,' said the captain, 'I don't like you, and you don't like me. Let's try to keep this as civilised as possible, so when your name is called out, I want you to step forward.'

'Ulfric Stormcloak,' called the subordinate.

Ulfric boldly stepped forward without hesitation.

'Ralph of Riverwood.'

Ralof bit his tongue and silently stepped forward.

'Lokir of Rorikstead.'

The thief stepped forward. 'No!' he cried. 'I'm not a rebel. You can't do this.' Without waiting for a response, he broke into a sprint towards the main gate. 'You're not going to kill me.'

'Archer!' called the captain.

'What is it?' called the archer.

'Shoot that prisoner, you idiot!'

'Oh right. Quickly, the archer nocked, an arrow, drew back his bow, and struck Lokir square between his shoulderblades. The thief fell to the ground, dead.

'Anyone else feel like running?' barked the captain triumphantly.

Realising that there was only one archer in the entire town, the rest of the prisoners broke into a run and poured out through the main gate to freedom.

'Archer!' called the officer again.

'Yes?' called the archer. 'What can I do for you this time, sir?'

'Shoot the damn prisoners, you fool! They're getting away!'

'Erm, which one?'

'No point now,' said the subordinate. 'They got away.'

There was an awkward silence.

'You probably shouldn't have said that about them running, huh?' said the subordinate.

The captain sneered like an enraged dog.

'Shut up, minion!'


End file.
